Mr Cohen reordena la noche

El cuerpo de la noche

Cuando la noche me respira siento

que se despiertan todos mis sentidos

no por su embrujo dulce

ni por la calma anónima que deja

reducidos a polvo mis temores

sino por su estatura de gigante:

ese ojo felinamente ubicuo,

esa boca lasciva o generosa,

los túneles sagrados de sus piernas,

la extensión palpitante de su sexo.

El sueño o el amor son la moneda

con que la noche elige mi fortuna.

Y si el sueño, ¿cómo podré contarlo?

Y si el amor, ¿qué dicen las palabras

que uno balbuce en tales ocasiones?

La miro desde el fondo de mis ojos

al fondo de su ojo

sin saber qué pensar.

Ella se deja. Y continúa callada.

El silencio es la forma que tiene de incitarme.

(De El sol de medianoche, 1988)

Recuerdo que escribí la primera versión de este poema ya antiguo mientras en un viejo equipo de música sonaba la voz inconfundible de Leonard Cohen, al que le han concedido el premio Príncipe de Asturias de las Letras. Lo recupero hoy como homenaje al autor de Suzanne  y como excusa para ponerlo junto a una música que siempre consigue emocionarme como si fuera la primera vez. Quizás porque Mr Leonard lleva la noche disuelta no solo en su apellido sino también en su voz.

     

Fotografía, River, fire, night. © AJR, 2011.

Suzanne
Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river
You can hear the boats go by
You can spend the night beside her
And you know that she's half crazy
But that's why you want to be there
And she feeds you tea and oranges
That come all the way from China
And just when you mean to tell her
That you have no love to give her
Then she gets you on her wavelength
And she lets the river answer
That you've always been her lover
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that she will trust you
For you've touched her perfect body with your mind.
And Jesus was a sailor
When he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching
From his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain
Only drowning men could see him
He said "All men will be sailors then
Until the sea shall free them"
But he himself was broken
Long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human
He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone
And you want to travel with him
And you want to travel blind
And you think maybe you'll trust him
For he's touched your perfect body with his mind.

Now Suzanne takes your hand
And she leads you to the river
She is wearing rags and feathers
From Salvation Army counters
And the sun pours down like honey
On our lady of the harbour
And she shows you where to look
Among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed
There are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love
And they will lean that way forever
While Suzanne holds the mirror
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that you can trust her
For she's touched your perfect body with her mind.